With Every Breath
by Phasera
Summary: The fight that changes everything. (KyouYuki, rated for language, 3 parts)
1. Hatred

Title: With Every Breath (I) _Fruits Basket_

Disclaimer: I don't own Fruits Basket, or any of it's characters. I do, however, own a Kyou keychain! It is quite adorable and sometimes late and night I set it on my pillow and stare and stare and dream. I'm a poor college student. Suing me will not get any of us anywhere.

----

Hate. Kyou knew it and tasted it, lived and breathed it. He walked around most days with hate in his back pocket, an old friend and familiar. The only emotion he was confident he knew how to feel. He hated a lot of things in this world: the Curse, noise, leeks, rainy days, being indoors, pity...

But most of all, he hated that god. Damned. _Rat._

Kyou hated so much that sometimes in the middle of the night he'd wake up hissing and spitting curses, his knuckles split and bleeding from punching the wall in his sleep. Sometimes he'd just have to see that rat for the hate to swell inside his chest so strong he couldn't breathe-- and sometimes he'd just run, vision blurring, running through the forest and faster, through the trees and branches whipping at his face and hair, eyes stinging. He'd run till he was utterly spent, till he collapsed to his knees, shivering from head to toe and fingers sore from clenching into fists.

It got worse every day. There was a constant bitterness in the back of his throat, his voice clipped and tight from the words that were waiting to be said; but what always came out instead was so wrong– just stupid insults and exclamations of outrage and that was wrong, dammit, because that damned rat didn't know, didn't see how Kyou's hate filled him up, right to the brim– drops of water that either froze into ice or burned. And it wasn't just because of the Zodiac, the legend of the rat's treachery towards the cat– it was everything, all of it– even the little things.

Kyou hated how everything came to Yuki so easily. He barely had to lift a finger for the world to be at his feet, fawning away– because wasn't Yuki the best, the favorite, the flawless, the first? One toss of his head to send them all to their knees, that's all it took– and one blink of his eye to shower them with contempt and disdain.

No. Not them. _Kyou._ The contempt was saved for the foolish, stupid cat. And oh, but Kyou _hated_ that.

Every time their eyes met in a furious glance, he wanted to summon all his rage and kick it past Yuki's perfect teeth-- past that fake, perfect smile that was worn for everyone else in the fucking world except for him-- to make Yuki choke on his rage and KNOW, know without doubt that Kyou's hate was real, that it was tangible and alive and it wasn't just some rivalry, some game of playing opposing sides of the same coin: Yuki the polite, perfect Prince; and Kyou the obnoxious, unwanted Freak.

And Kyou hated more than anything else that _he_ was the better fighter– better trained but because he couldn't find a way to let go of his hate during a fight (not even for a second, dammit, and why?) His challenges always ended up with him in the dirt, tasting blood in his mouth and Yuki standing over him, his face always the very fucking picture of serenity.

Just like today. The sun was rising behind Yuki-- showing just barely above the tops of the trees and turning his hair silver and gold-- and Kyou's ears were still ringing from that roundhouse kick and he turned his head, spat blood, and hated. He nursed the familiar ache of it in his chest, the fingers of one hand clenching in the dirt as he levered himself up, and the other hand dashing away a trickle of saliva and blood from his chin. Yuki was still standing there, calmly, long after he normally would have stalked off; this only made the ache swell, till it felt like there was an iron band around his torso, constricting his lungs. The usual string of insults sprang to his mouth– but today his lips just wouldn't release them. They weren't the right words. The sun was tinting the sky pink and orange, reminding Kyou of another sunrise from not too long ago– one where Yuki had pinned his true self down into the rocks and the mud and let someone else call him home.

For once, Kyou held his tongue. He leveled a glare at the rat with eyes that smoldered like two coals, fingers still digging into the earth and the scent of soil, sweat, and grass filling his nostrils. But it seemed Yuki had words to fill Kyou's void, today.

"When are you going to give up, cat?"

And there it was, along with the words– that glint in the lavender eyes, that poison lacing of veiled disdain.

When you know. When you see how much I hate. When you see _me_– his thoughts ran together in a tangle of fierce but directionless hopes. "When I beat you." Kyou finally answered, his voice just as low, just as cold.

"That's not going to happen. So stop wasting my time."

"I'll waste whatever I fucking feel like!"

"Why don't you wake up and get a clue, you stupid cat!"

"Why don't you just make me, dumb rat!"

"I thought I already had. Every damn day. You're just too stupid to see it!"

Yuki's hands were fisted tight in the collar of Kyou's shirt, and they were standing eye-to-eye and toe-to-toe as they screamed at each other– so close that Kyou could count individual eyelashes and see the slight twitch in Yuki's cheek from clenching his jaw too hard– and Kyou couldn't really remember how he'd gotten from the ground to here, but it didn't matter because his own hands snatched up the collar of Yuki's shirt and jerked– and now was the moment, the right words were going to come and then that fucking rat would see.

His own teeth were clenched together so it was difficult, and it was awkward, to force out the words that had become his private mantra, sung a thousand times in his own head but rarely out loud-- but he had to, so he did it:

"I_ hate_ you. With every fucking breath, I hate you." The words were growled, just barely above a whisper– but they were finally out, sharp and clear as a cut from a blade of ice.

Yuki's eyes only narrowed to slits of shadowed purple and black; his narrow hands fisting tighter in the material of Kyou's shirt, now winding taut enough to bruise. "I hate you more. For every minute you've hated me, I've hated you twice as much."

Kyou felt almost sick now with the strength of the anger that was twisting his stomach into knots. He simultaneously let go of Yuki's collar and shoved, breaking the other boy's own grip– and shoved again, hard, forcing him right up against the trunk of the nearest tree, hands pushing at Yuki's thins shoulders as if he could force him through to the other side. "You fucking bastard. This is just another way to beat me, just another way for you to win-"

Yuki shoved back, but Kyou had planted his feet and didn't budge. "No! I hate you– I hate everything about you– your stupid temper tantrums, your stupid loud voice– you don't care about anyone else but yourself, your whole fucking world revolves around the problems of Kyou Sohma!"

"Shut up! What the hell do you know about it, anyway?" Kyou spat back, panting and glaring and still struggling. There was a cut above his eye that was bleeding sluggishly, and sweat from his brow was stinging his eyes. "You're everyone's favorite– Akito's pet--"

"Akito was the one who taught me how to hate," Yuki snapped, and any control the normally composed boy usually possessed had long since been burned up in the heat of rage. "And he taught me well. And I hate how you want my place in this family when I'd do anything to be able to give it up– and I hate that you hated me first, without even knowing me– and I hate that I hate you, Kyou! With every fucking breath, I hate this!"

It took exactly three heartbeats for Yuki's words to sink into Kyou's mind and register– three heartbeats to hear Yuki's soft gasp and look of horror– three heartbeats and then Kyou was frozen, arms still pinning Yuki to the tree but not moving. No. . . that wasn't right. It wasn't. . . it wasn't supposed to go like this. He was lying. . . he had to be. . . it was just a manipulation, a lie.

And as soon as Kyou thought that, he could move. The flush of anger returned to his face, a scratchy growl in the back of his throat. "You're lying!" he snarled, jerking the rat slightly forward only to shove him back, hard enough to make the branches rattle and dead leaves to float down around them like dirty snow.

Yuki's glare could have melted steel. But his eyes broke away first, and he shoved only half-heartedly against Kyou's arms once more. "No. I'm not."

For the next few moments, Kyou could only stare– eyes wild and panicked– but suddenly he broke away and stepped back as if touching Yuki burned his hands. Hate was giving way to shock and surprise, and that wasn't right at all– everything was unexpected, he didn't know what to even think– he tried to keep hating but it was trickling out of his grasp like sand through a clenched fist and he was lost. Utterly lost.

They stood that way for a minute– silent except as they caught their breath, neither one meeting the other's eyes. The sun had continued to climb in the sky throughout all this, and dawn's soft pastels had been replaced with vibrant shades of blue. It hadn't been a lie.

In spite of the turmoil and confusion that swamped his thoughts like an oppressive fog, Kyou recognized one emotion in the midst of it all. He wasn't sure how, as he'd never felt such a thing before in his life– but he was sure, all the same.

He felt defeated.

Maybe Yuki hadn't planned on it, or even wanted it. Kyou looked at the other boy– the pale face smudged with streaks of dirt, silver hair in tangles and a dried leaf clinging to his bangs– and dammit-- he still looked perfect. And untouchable. And unreachable.

Kyou relinquished to him, anyway.


	2. Gift

Title: With Every Breath (II)

Disclaimer: I do not own Furuba, nor do I own Yuki or (alas and woe!) Kyou Sohma. My heart grieves for this.

Author's Note: Heh. Heh heh . . ahhh, remember how I said there was only going to be that one part? Yeah, well. . . the plot bunnies had other plans. Damn their pink little eyes! THIS, however, shall be it. Really. This and the conclusion. Then no more!

----

Yuki and Kyou passed away the rest of that day in silence– a silence made all the more extraordinary by the way it lasted and kept, emphasizing the former frequency and bitterness of their usual bickering with absence alone. It was a silence apparently so profound that throughout the day their friends and relatives could not help but to comment upon it– asking if either Yuki or Kyou or both of them had taken ill, or had been possessed by demons, or if they were even quite in their right minds.

Kyou only answered the teasing with more of the glowering silence, and to his surprise, Yuki did much the same. For his part, Kyou was preoccupied with making a strenuous effort to erase the disturbing events of earlier that morning from his memory (such as Yuki's words, his eyes, his tone of voice, his everything)– and around lunchtime even going so far as to wonder with idle desperation whether or not Hatori's memory charms worked on the Cursed, after all of his own efforts had repeatedly failed him. All day long, thoughts of Yuki itched along his skin like a line of marching ants, making him fidgety and nervous and shaky by turns.

And all day long, he waited for his defeat to weigh him down, to crush him with shame, to shove like a tangible force from the sky and cause the earth to yawn and swallow him along with his disgrace and at last put him out of his misery.

But. . . it didn't. Kyou didn't feel shamed, or humiliated-- all he felt. . . was tired. Though there were occasional moments when another emotion manifested itself– one he couldn't quite put his finger on– one that was suspiciously akin to fear. He felt this on and off throughout the school-day (and he was utterly incapable of concentrating in classes because of it, but his teachers didn't mind so much, because for once he was being blessedly quiet), and what was even more disturbing, was that it seemed to manifest at any accidental meeting of Kyou's gaze with Yuki's; when he could catch glimpses of a startled deer-in-the-headlights look he was positive his own face mirrored exactly.

Perhaps the most frightening aspect of that day was the lack of hatred. As much as he tried, it had retreated to a dark place inside of him that was at the moment beyond his reach– and in its' place it left him occupied with an unsettling amalgamation of confusion and chaos and something else– somewhere that was buried and veiled and beyond even his own understanding; so faint it might have blown out if he breathed in too deeply-- hope.

Dinner that evening was indeed a singularly unusual affair. Kyou and Yuki continued to neither look at nor speak to one another; both of them answering Shigure's blatant teasing and Tohru's discreet inquiries with wordless grunts (or simple 'yes's and 'no's, if pressed). When they were done shoving food around their plates without eating much, both excused themselves, hastily retreating to their favorite thinking spots– Yuki to his garden, Kyou to his rooftop. Shigure and Tohru were left alone at the table to flirt and trade in bemused looks and conspiracy theories. The mystery of the sudden cease-fire was pondered deeply, but ultimately left unexplained.

While Shigure and Tohru wondered over it, so too did the subjects of their queries. Kyou in fact continued to wonder over it long past the sun's slipping in a blaze of red and violet below horizon's edge. He wondered while the sky turned grey upon black, the were stars lost beyond overcast clouds, and the autumn air grew dank and chill. He rarely felt the cold, warm enough in his sweatshirt and cargo pants– and for a few minutes he was even able to distract his busy mind by watching for shapes in his breath as it escaped his mouth in a white fog.

But only for a few minutes, and then Kyou was back to wishing none that morning had never happened, that Yuki had not said what he said– that instead he might have walked away like normal, and Kyou might have nursed his hatred to a hotter flame, and then he wouldn't _hurt _like this. And that was what really pissed him off– because why should it hurt to lose a hate that had made him ache for so long? The ache hadn't slipped quietly into the dark along with his hate– it had abided, a burning sensation in his lungs like he was breathing in smoke and flame; a feeling that his skin was stretched too tight over his bones.

Finally, when the painful throb of his temples (consequence of thinking too much and for too long) couldn't be ignored, and when he was about to give in to the dragging of his eyelids and go downstairs to sleep– that's when Kyou heard unmistakable footsteps on the ladder, climbing up to the roof. Sitting up, he sighed and resigned himself to enduring another barrage of Tohru's anxious (yet unassuming) questions. There was just enough illumination from the porch light below that he didn't worry about her safety– it hardly lit up the night, but made the outline of things soft and grey and dim.

Except the crown of hair that peeked over the top of the ladder was silver, not brown; the eyes that followed were lavender-grey, veiled under slitted lids-- and Tohru Honda had never, in any way shape or form, _ever _had eyes like that.

For a second, Kyou felt a flash of heat that could have been anger over the fact that Yuki (once again showing him up), had been the first to get up the guts to seek him out– except the heat seemed to settle in Kyou's cheeks and neck, and by all the fucking ancestors in heaven– was he _blushing_? He would have ardently denied it, but he was still as completely tongue-tied as before, searching for something, anything to say, even though if he did find something, it would be impossible to speak it around the lump in his throat.

Yuki sat down a few feet away, fidgeting a bit before settling into a position that echoed Kyou's– knees drawn up, arms laid across them, feet braced against the rough roof tiles. As he did this, Kyou braved a sideways look into the other boy's face, and was taken aback by the expression of mixed hopelessness and determination he found there. He had no idea what to even think about that (which was not unfamiliar territory by now), much less what to say about it; and so the silence was preserved between them for a few minutes longer.

As was to be expected, Yuki was the first to break the silence.

"Your birthday is in less than a week."

This was nothing like what Kyou had been anticipating, but he held his tongue. Yuki had not come up here just to tell him when his eighteenth birthday was. Graduation was also not too distant on the horizon. Kyou had yet to make plans for either of them– had yet to do anything at all, really, except feel a vague sense of dread and anxiety towards both that had made him rather surlier than usual all year.

Yuki was continuing, eyes hidden beneath silver bangs in sore need of trimming. "I'm going to give you what you want, Kyou. We're going to have the fight."

Kyou knew immediately what was meant. It would be a _real _fight, not this brawling they'd done since they were kids. It would be the fight that decided his future: to be caged, as Master's grandfather had been, a monster forevermore removed from any sight that he might offend; or to bring the name of the Cat back from the depths of disgrace, and finally be respected and acknowledged by the Sohma family. It could bring about his worst fear. . . or everything he'd dreamed about having since first transforming into the Beast– since finally learning the words behind the slit-eyed stares, the whispers as he went by– _Monster. Freak. Outcast_.

Kyou had to relearn how to breathe, then disguise his voice with sneering to hide it's tremble. "Good. I'm ready for you, Rat." Somehow-- though he'd thought it a glaringly obvious thing, burning like a brand on his forehead for all the world to see– Yuki had not seen the defeat in Kyou that morning. And now, the promise of the fight had washed it away as if it had never been. He felt strong and weak all at once; confident in himself, yet more scared than he could ever remember feeling in his life. The damp air seemed too close, almost suffocating. The clouds, almost invisible against the black of the sky, chose that moment to open up, to let loose a trickling rain that was barely more than a mist. It made the air colder and wetter, and Kyou shivered uncomfortably.

"I think you are, too." Yuki told him, white vapor puffing out of his mouth along with his softly-spoken words. His hand, pale and thin, reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, revealing that the determination had grown in his face. It was carved into his cheekbones, set in his chin– a tangible thing that Kyou reluctantly had to admire– but only until Yuki spoke again.

"That's why I'm going to put everything I have into beating you, Kyou. I won't pull any punches, shorten any kicks– I won't hold a single thing back. And I'm going to win- - I have to."

Kyou could almost hate him again for those words. He could taste it in his mouth– bitter and astringent– it was almost hate stronger than anything before. . . except it wasn't, not really. His eyes were burning and vision blurred, his throat was so tight he was almost choking– this wasn't hate but despair, and it hurt, it _hurt_, and he didn't know why.

"I have to. . . because I learned something important when I was very small," Yuki was going on, and Kyou had to concentrate to hear him past the dim roaring in his ears.

"I learned that being worthy of Akito's notice is the only thing in the world worse than being beneath it, and I _can't_ watch you realize that, Kyou. . . I can't." And suddenly Yuki's hands were on his shoulders, forcing him to turn, to look straight into Yuki's face and to see the complete and total absence of what he'd expected– disdain, contempt– seeing instead fear, and longing, and unshed tears bright in lavender eyes.

Kyou could meet his eyes only for a second before dropping his own. He wanted to snarl at Yuki, rage, cry that he didn't need his fucking twisted sense of protection– but his mouth moved of it's own accord and his heard himself whispering– voice thick from the tightness of his throat– "Why are you doing this?"

He felt Yuki's fingers jerk slightly, as if startled, and the other boy relinquished his hold. "I. . . I'd do the same. . . for anyone," Yuki whispered back. Caged, but free of Akito– apparently that was the better life in Yuki's estimation. But what could have happened to make that so? And who exactly was anyone? Who else in this family was a thing such as Kyou– who else was haunted by the same legacy, the same demons? Kyou couldn't understand why Yuki had said that, and somehow it only made him more upset and confused.

Inside of him there was a rising bitterness that was stinging his skin like pricks from a needle, and he was able to snap out all the things he'd meant to say before. "I don't need any fucking protection, and I _never _needed you to hold back; go ahead and give it everything you've got– I won't lose, you hear me? I won't. Fucking. _Lose_."

Kyou stood abruptly, swiftly moving across the roof and down the ladder in spite of the slick wetness the rain had caused, anger bubbling like heat in his chest and it still wasn't hate, but that didn't matter anymore because he didn't care– that fucking rat– he didn't care. . . Kyou realized he was gritting his teeth to keep from crying, and that only made him angrier.

He was striding towards the kitchen door when hands shoved him roughly, spinning him around and pinning against the side of the house. Yuki had his hands fisted in Kyou's sweatshirt, and he had a moment to appreciate the irony of the role-reversal from that morning before Yuki's face was inches from his own and hissing at him, "You goddamn idiot– why can't you understand even one simple thing–"

But Kyou was not about to do this– he was tired of it, so fucking tired. He snarled wordlessly and tried to yank away– but Yuki pulled him back and slammed him against the wall again. "No, dammit, you are going to _listen _to me for once--"

"I don't care what you say to me! It's not gonna work– you've made your promise and you can't take it back and _I'm going to win_, nothing short of Armageddon is gonna stop me from beating you–"

"I know," Yuki looked stricken, and fierce, and agonized all at once. "I know you will," he murmured again, and with a start Kyou recognized the same despair bordering on hate that had dwelled inside himself. Yuki's fingers clenched and unclenched in Kyou's sweatshirt. "I still have to try."

Finding himself suddenly wordless and voiceless, Kyou's brown eyes fixed themselves on Yuki's face– on the purple eyes with their impossibly long lashes, on the strands of hair that the rain had plastered to his forehead, straggling and dripping and Kyou inexplicably had the urge to push them back, but he didn't. His ears had heard what the other boy had said, but his brain didn't seem to quite understand it yet. So he kept on staring, unaware that the tears he'd been forcing back before had found their way down his face somewhere in the midst of his tirade– unaware that is, till Yuki had reached up with one hand to brush them carefully away.

He noted that Yuki's own gaze was set somewhere in the vicinity of Kyou's mouth, and his breath was forcibly frozen in his lungs as Yuki's fingers followed his looks and moved lightly over Kyou's lips. They parted in astonishment, formed Yuki's name, yet didn't have the voice or the breath to actually say it– but the word would have been swallowed by Yuki's mouth anyway, because suddenly Kyou was being kissed, the shock vanishing like a dream to be replaced by heat, and any coherent thoughts he might possibly have been forming were knocked down like a child's sand-castle by an ocean wave.

It ended almost as soon as it had begun, with Yuki pulling back and releasing Kyou. "Stupid cat," Yuki was saying– but it was whispered and he wasn't looking at Kyou, just moving past him into the house. Kyou was left as completely lost as he had been that morning, leaning against the wall and blinking raindrops out of his eyelashes.


	3. Touch

Title: With Every Breath (III)

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my hopes and dreams and the moths that flutter in my empty pockets, etc.

Author's Note: This is the conclusion. Really.

----

----

The arch of Yuki's spine as he sailed through the air was a perfect, graceful line– as if even when falling, perfect was all he knew how to be. Kyou wanted to suspend that moment in time– so that he might stand there forever– still resonating from the impact of the roundhouse kick, tracing the perfect curve of Yuki's back and shoulders with heavy-lidded eyes, and feeling that soaring sensation in the pit of his stomach that was part adrenalin, part anxiety, and part hope. But between the space of one heartbeat and the next the moment was shattered, and Kyou mourned it as he watched Yuki tumble to the grass and send up spatters of muddy water.

Silence fell like a blanket over the clearing, so complete Kyou couldn't even hear the hiss of rustling clothes from the ring of Juunishi that stood around at the borders of the clearing within the inner sanctum of the Sohma residence. All who knew of the Curse were there– even Tohru Honda, because it amused Akito to have her see this fight between two boys she was meant to have cared for– to have changed. She did little witnessing, however– for most of it she clung with a death-grip to Shigure's hand and buried her face against the sleeve of his jacket to hide her tears. The rest were as statues– a ring of sentinels set here to witness his fate. They were supposed to be his family. . . but not one of them could save him from the cage should the favor of the match turn against him. So they watched– faces set in sad, solemn expressions– because they couldn't look away. Because watching was all they could do for him now.

Having eyes for his opponent only, Kyou spared no glances for any of them.

The rain– as it had done since the night on the roof, when Yuki had agreed to this fight– came down in a drizzle that was more maddening than an outright downpour would have been. It seemed to soak the very air around them, seemed to come in on every breath and absorb itself into his skin, till Kyou felt cold and clammy and sick with it. Weather like this made him feel he was everything he disliked being: tired, weak, and helpless. If he lost the bracelet now, he knew he was gone– the beast would come out and he wouldn't be able to hold back the change and it would all have been for nothing, all of it– every single fucking thing that had mattered to him.

But for now– for now, such a brief, fleeting thing– Kyou was winning. For the first time in his life, he was besting Yuki Sohma at something. He'd known he would. And known he _could _(if subconsciously) ever since relinquishing the hatred he'd felt for the other boy. It had been like the tide receding, like blinking sand out of his eyes– for suddenly he could _see_, he could see every move that Yuki made, could counter it, return it– and suddenly Kyou was the fighter he'd trained his whole life to be.

He wanted to feel exhilarated, thrilled, jubilant– but all could feel was the accelerated beating of his heart, pounding as if it would at any moment burst in his chest. And although watching Yuki struggle to his feet every time Kyou laid him out brought the taste of dismay to his dry mouth, it did not lessen his determination.

That last kick had been a powerful one. Kyou had automatically moved back into a defensive stance, feet planted as firmly as possible on the slippery turf. Watching Yuki heaving with arms that trembled slightly to pick his exhausted body up from the ground, Kyou had to suppress the unwanted urge to gently take Yuki's elbow and help the other boy get up. Because Kyou wanted nothing of gentleness anymore– it had done nothing in the past to alter him from the path he was now treading. He wiped moisture from his face with his dampened sleeve, and held his ground.

Yuki managed to sit up, though hunched over, knees drawn up underneath him. His fingers were digging into the muddy ground, and only Kyou was close enough to see his jaw was tightly clenched. Blood trickled from cuts near his temple and the side of his face; his hair was matted and filthy; his clothes were torn and spattered with mud– in short, the boy had never looked more unlike himself. There was also a wild, haunted look in his eyes that Kyou had sometimes glimpsed when they were trading blows; and seeing it, he knew Yuki had meant everything that he'd said the other night.

Kyou's condition wasn't much better– Yuki was a damn good martial artist, after all. The fight seemed to him to have lasted so long that he could barely remember a time when they had not been here, like this– fighting and standing and falling and hurting and breathing and bleeding and never speaking a single word. Kyou was also filthy, bedraggled, exhausted– but he was the one standing, and Yuki was not.

In some ways he felt distant from the fight– as if it wasn't real, or perhaps_ he _wasn't real. Though he'd often dreamed of what winning would be like, he had never imagined the fight itself. . . he had never seen himself beating Yuki Sohma- - never until that exact moment, when it happened before his very eyes. Yuki tried to gain his feet– but slipped, falling heavily to his hands and knees, panting and shaking. He held that position for a minute, while Kyou felt as if he couldn't have drawn air into his lungs for the space of that minute even if he'd tried.

And that was when Yuki, with his eyes hidden beneath the dirty tangle of his bangs, shook his head slowly, as if the movement pained him. Kyou recognized it at once, having felt it before himself: it was the look of defeat. Defeat without resignation– but still defeat, all the same.

Akito was the first to say anything to shatter the crystalline stillness that had fallen. "You have failed me, Rat," he hissed, his eyes narrowed and mouth grim. Yuki did not move, did not speak, did not look up.

Before realizing it, Kyou had taken an involuntary step forward. His head was still in the fight– his body was still pulsing with adrenalin, his muscles still poised on the edge of action, his world still so focused and concentrated that time seemed almost to move more slowly. In the place where he was, he didn't think about the curse or Akito's position– he only wanted to hit Akito, to hurt him, to tackle the reed-like body and wrap every one of his fingers around that reed-like neck and squeeze.

Kazuma stepped forward, almost in the same heartbeat as Kyou, arm thrown out to forestall him. "It was a good fight, and a fair one," the older man said, and Akito's eyes darkened to black, but he did not deny it. He did nothing to acknowledge the truth of it, either– did not even glance towards the Cat, or remember his promise out loud.

But looking to his Master's face, Kyou knew it did not matter, because joy was dawning there like the sun and it finally hit him that he'd won the match. He'd won, and he was free. Time snapped back into place with a snap, and it hit Kyou that he was shivering from over-exertion, drenched in mud and cold sweat, and that his fists were still raised and ready. Lowering his arms, he felt as if he'd misplaced himself somehow– someplace else that was not here, because here was impossible: _here_ was a defeated Yuki Sohma; _here_ was freedom;_ here_ was his family, the Juunishi, coming to congratulate him and pat his back; _here_ was Tohru clutching her hands together and bursting into fresh tears while Shigure rubbed her back comfortingly and beamed from ear to ear at Kyou.

And _here_ was not. . . right. Something was wrong. Something was. . . missing.

Searching over Tohru's head, he saw Yuki being helped to his feet by an anxious Hatsuharu. He saw Yuki shrugging the hand off his shoulder while leaning into the hand on his elbow because he needed its' support. He saw Yuki trembling as Kyou was trembling, but likely for entirely different reasons, as Akito had moved to stand right in front of Yuki and cup Yuki's slender face in his hands, lean in to whisper in Yuki's ear. Whatever he whispered there made his ebony eyes gleam and Yuki try to turn his head away, eyelashes like silver glitter against his dirty cheeks because he had them shut tight.

Kyou's body seemed to move without commands from his brain, because his brain was preoccupied with dark thoughts and dark places and dark realizations of the cause of Yuki's fears. He tore away from the useless, anonymous, congratulating hands and walked– carefully, so carefully, for his skin might come apart at the seams if he moved too quickly– to where Akito and Yuki were standing. The dark stormcloud of his thoughts must have shown in his face because Haru backed away from them, and Akito redirected his concentration from Yuki to Kyou. He released the other boy's face, and immediately Yuki's legs folded underneath him and he sank like an autumn leaf drifting from a tree.

"Come to play, Cat?" Akito murmured, and Kyou wondered that he should still hear him over the buzz of static in his ears. "Come to win a position in my favor now that you've earned the honor of being in my sight?" Before he could object, Akito had captured Kyou's face just as he had done to Yuki, the icy touch of his fingers causing Kyou to tremble like a bird under his hands. In that moment, his once distant and almost nonchalant fear of the head of their family became suddenly and painfully acute.

Akito whispered into Kyou's ear, his soft breath and voice as icy as his fingers. "Will you be as good a pet as my Yuki? Will you scream and strain and cry for me, my Creature? I think I should like to see that," his fingertips trailed along Kyou's rigid jawline, "For in spite of being a monster in human's clothes, you are still a beautiful thing." His lips grazed Kyou's neck just below his ear, and Akito laughed very quietly at Kyou's shudder. He wanted to move, but he felt frozen in place, as if his feet had set roots into the ground. He wanted to scream his revulsion, push Akito away, do all the things to him he'd imagined doing earlier– but it was as if Akito's very voice was hypnotizing, and as long as he spoke, Kyou was powerless to do more than listen to him.

"Poor Yuki," Akito murmured, his voice now loud enough for the subject of his words, who was still huddled over himself at their feet, to hear. "Look here how he cowers at the thought of being replaced by you– perhaps he's finally understood just how lost he is without me. . . my poor, beautiful Yuki. . ." The black-haired young man let go of Kyou to half-kneel at Yuki's side, his silk robes pooling gracefully around him as if he posed for a painting. "But perhaps," Akito continued in his quiet, icy voice, and there seemed to be a seductive warmth around the edged of his words now. His right hand went to Yuki's back, his fingers tracing lazy patterns there against the wet, muddy cloth of his shirt as it clung to his skin. "Perhaps if Yuki is very, _very _good, we shall let him join us in our little games. . . wouldn't you like that, my Creature?"

Kyou watched Yuki flinch ever-so-slightly at Akito's touch, hearing a memory echo in his mind as if from someplace far, far away from where he was now:_ being worthy of Akito's notice is the only thing in the world worse than being beneath it_, and god, this was exactly what Yuki had wanted to save him from, wasn't it? Maybe Yuki had wanted it because he'd never been able to save himself– or because he was too good to let anyone else suffer– or even because of the same impulse that had made him kiss Kyou that night– the point was Yuki had tried to warn him, and Kyou had been too stupid to see it wasn't an exaggeration, or a misjudgment, or an irrational fear. The truth was, the fear was real. And it was breathing and it's eyes were lit with quiet fires and it was touching Yuki still and it had haunted him like a shadow for his whole life.

Kyou blinked, and his hand was gripping Akito's wrist, and he'd lost a bit of time somewhere because he didn't remember moving, but that was probably because he was so angry it was burning him up from the inside out and all he wanted to do was fucking. Make. Akito. Bleed. Fuck the Juunishi and fuck the Curse and fuck everything he had thought he wanted because that was nothing, it was a speck of dust compared to how much he wanted Akito to never be able to touch Yuki again.

Using his fierce grip, he forced Akito to his feet, till they were standing toe-to-toe and eye-to-eye and that's when Kyou decided to make himself perfectly clear. "You don't fucking touch him," he hissed, voice cold like winter morning. They were the first words he had spoken to Akito since accepting the deal all those years ago. There might have been gasps of astonishment from somewhere behind them, but Kyou didn't hear because somewhere along the line he had forgotten anyone else was there.

Akito's eyes widened with pure shock for a moment, but he regained his composure and they narrowed to black slits. He jerked his wrist free with a surprising show of strength. "You forget your place, Cat," he hissed back, venomously. No Sohma ever disobeyed. _Ever._

Kyou couldn't have given a damn if he tried. "Yeah," he said. "I do." Then he was crouching next to Yuki, looking into lavender eyes and Yuki was looking back, and something unnamed passed between them which might have been courage or strength or friendship or love– or all of these. Or none of them, and something else all together. But they both felt it, regardless.

"Kyou," Yuki was whispering, barely audible, and Kyou was succumbing to an urge he'd had for a long time and brushing Yuki's hair off his forehead with careful, deliberate movements. Even beaten up, muddy, bruised, and exhausted– Yuki was still so beautiful that Kyou had a hard time finding his next breath. When he did, Kyou used it to kiss him, to press his lips to Yuki's softly, slowly– in case the kiss from that night had been an accident, or a mistake. But Yuki was kissing him back, passionately and fiercely, and Kyou had a moment to be glad he needn't be gentle because he wasn't good at being gentle, before he was soaring, every molecule of him flying and kissing Yuki Sohma at the same time.

Someone who might have been Tohru Honda was whispering triumphantly that she'd known it all along, before her words converted to a muffled squeak as someone who might have been Shigure laughed and then kissed her; and there was more laughter as well as few worried whispers because, after all– disobeying the head of the Sohma family just wasn't _done_, and nobody knew what would happen next, not even Akito, who– at Kyou's defiance and the rest of Juunishi's refusal to intercede– had retreated into the dim interior of the house. Undoubtedly, he wouldn't be silent about this for long.

For now, Kyou still couldn't care less. He didn't care about where they could go or what they could do or what others might say. All he knew was that he finally had what he wanted– and what he wanted was more than he'd ever even thought to ask for; and it was kissing the boy he used to hate with every breath and it was flying and it was freedom and it was home.

--- fin_ —_

(rather repugnant frippery, yes, but in this case probably necessary.)

_Author again:__ First of all, I want to thank everyone who read this, and especially those of you who have left such kind reviews. They were the encouragement I needed to give way to the machinations of the plot bunnies and sit down to write this conclusion. I'm so happy that I did– this is the first semi-lengthy fic I have finished in. . . well. . . ever, I guess! So, yes. Go me._

_Also, I have a request of all of you: I'm on the lookout for really GOOD, epic Yuki/Kyou fic. I've only read a few short pieces, and I'm curious as to how other Yukyo shippers view their peculiar little relationship. (Plus, I'm like, so out of my depth when it comes to writing smut.) So, yeah, if you have a spare moment, please drop me a few links! You'd be on my Gratitude List forever._

_I have no idea if I shall ever write Yukyo, or even Furuba fic ever again. The Plot bunnies are so devious. I have no idea what they'll be up to next. Oo_

_Anyways— again: Thank you all so much!_


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